


#1 Dad

by MissNaya



Category: DCU
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Competition, Daddy Kink, Fights, Fingerfucking, M/M, Multi, Pseudo-Incest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:00:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25033585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya
Summary: Slade knows Bruce is jealous of his "relationship" with Jason. He offers him a way to potentially even the score.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne/Slade Wilson, Jason Todd/Slade Wilson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 279





	#1 Dad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MythologyGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythologyGirl/gifts).



> hey there, long time no see! what a fuckin' year, huh? maybe I can make it better with some GAY FANFICTION
> 
> everyone thank our generous sponsor, mythologygirl, for making this fic possible!

“Wilson.”

“Last names already? You _must_ be mad.”

Slade doesn’t look up from where he’s sharpening his sword. Behind him, in full cape and cowl, stands Bruce, having broken into Slade’s Gotham safe house with practiced ease.

“Stay away from my son.”

He doesn’t waste any time. Slade huffs out a humorless chuckle.

“Damian? I thought we already had this conversation,” he says, deliberately obtuse. “Kid’s yours. I don’t want him.”

He can practically _feel_ Bruce’s sour frown deepen. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Slade can’t help it. He smirks. Technically speaking, he doesn’t _have_ to turn his head to make sure Bruce sees it, but he does.

“Sorry, you’re gonna have to be more specific. Did you see something that’s got you all bent out of shape?”

The sound of squeaking leather fills the air as Bruce balls his hands into (tighter) fists. “You’re pressing your luck, Slade.”

“More like I was pressing Jason Todd into the mattress, and you’ve got issues with that.”

Bruce doesn’t dignify him with an answer, unless you count “trying to kick his skull across the room like a soccer ball” as an answer. Slade dodges, naturally, and just like that, they’re engaged in combat, as relentless and brutal as if Bruce were trying to keep him from killing a target.

“You know he’s an adult, right?” Slade asks as he blocks a few punches with his forearms. “Does he know Daddy Bats is running around giving the shovel talk to his fuckbuddies?”

That word seems to trigger more rage in Bruce, if the growl and subsequent headbutt are anything to go by. Slade staggers back, vision going white for a second, which is all the time Bruce needs to kick him across the room. He hits the wall so hard it cracks, and, if it weren’t for his healing factor, his spine would’ve cracked, too.

By the time Bruce crosses the room and hauls him up by the collar, Slade is bleeding down his chin, cheek ragged inside where he bit it upon impact. He continues to smirk anyway.

“I mean it, Wilson. Stay away from him.”

“I think that’s up to Jason to decide, don’t you?” Slade’s eyes flick between Bruce’s white-lensed eyes and his hard-set jaw. “Kid wants what he wants. I’m just the one willing to give it to him. Not my fault you were too slow on the draw.”

Bruce’s whole body tenses. He’s careful to disguise it, but Slade is perceptive. He catches the way his hands tighten in his collar, his teeth clack in his mouth as they grind together.

“What’s that supposed to—”

“I think you and I both know.”

They stand in silence for a few long moments. Bruce’s glare is intense, a real showstopper if he were dealing with a common alley thug. But Slade isn’t some scared little drug runner with big superstitions and fragile bones. He grins at Bruce the way a hyena laughs before a kill.

“It’s funny,” he says, “the way you still call him your son, all things considered. I mean, I’m not the best father, myself, but wanting to screw your son six ways to Sunday? That’s—”

He expects the punch. Doesn’t make it hurt any less, and it loosens a molar, so he’ll have to be careful to keep it in place until it can heal back into his gums. Worth it, though.

He spits a glob of blood onto the floor. “Does he know how you feel? Because, I mean, between you and me, I think he’d be into it. But then, you probably figured that, didn’t you? Considering—”

“Slade. Stop talking.”

“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t hear it. Like you weren’t standing there until we finished,” Slade says, recalling the rooftop, Jason pressed up against the entrance to the stairwell, legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into him. Remembers the distinct feeling of a presence nearby, watching them. Of course, he knew who it was the whole time.

He knew who it was before that, too, when he really did have Jason face down on the mattress. And the time before that, when they had a run-in in Metropolis. The Bat’s been lurking for a longer time than Slade is willing to bet he’d admit.

Bruce doesn’t say anything. Slade uses the silence to press him more.

“Are you jealous?” he asks. “Don’t wanna share custody? Or have you just never heard one of your kids call another man ‘Daddy’ before?”

Bruce raises a fist, but this time, Slade doesn’t let him swing it. He grabs him by the wrists and spins them around, slamming Bruce up against the wall. The cracks spread, plaster chipping off and sprinkling to the floor.

“I’m not in the mood for the back-and-forth denial shtick, so lemme lay it out for you,” he says, pressing down hard on Bruce’s pinned wrists. It does little to quell his struggling, until Slade slots a knee between his legs. _That_ gets him to freeze for a minute. “I fuck Jason. You want Jason. Jason wants a father figure that’ll pound him silly and not ask too many questions. I can give him that. Can you?”

Bruce says nothing, but his silence speaks volumes. It’s almost cute, the way he can’t bring himself to admit it. All those tight, strict Bat-morals keeping him from copping to his obvious feelings for his adopted son. Slade tosses his messy hair out of his eyes and laughs.

“Tell you what. You don’t have to say anything. Just meet me at the old apartment complexes on Johnson and Kapelput two days from now. Same time. There, we’ll settle this little custody battle of ours once and for all.”

Bruce tugs at his hold, and Slade lets him go. He gets a shoulder check on the way out as thanks for his generosity. But when Bruce stops at the open window, he looks over his shoulder, white lenses narrowed in threat.

“I want you out of Gotham,” he says, in that do-what-I-say-I’m-Batman-grr voice of his. “Tonight.”

Slade gives him a little wave as he jumps out and swings off into the night.

* * *

To his credit, Slade _does_ get out of Gotham that night, but only because he has another job in a city about three hours away. He stays there for two days, then, late Saturday night, finds himself in a safehouse in the abandoned apartments on Johnson and Kapelput.

Hey. Bats didn’t say how long he wanted him out of Gotham for.

And he’s not alone. Jason Todd is leaning against the sturdy old kitchen table, the one riddled with scars that make it look like it had been used for throwing knife target practice at some point. Beer in one hand, he’s relaxed. His shirt is riding up a little, showing off a strip of his flat, tight midsection. The shirt itself isn’t his usual red bat fare, which brings a tiny smirk to Slade’s face; it’s just a neutral black, and far too tight.

This is pleasure, not business. Slade made sure Jason was well aware of that before coming here.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Jason says, after taking a particularly long pull of his beer. “You say you’ve got some big, special plan for tonight, but I’m here half an hour, and you haven’t even tried to fuck me yet. What are we waiting for?”

Slade opens his mouth to admonish Jason for his impatience, but just then, there’s a _thunk_ near the front window. It’s deliberate. Bruce wants him to know he’s here.

“Kitchen,” Slade calls out, casual as if they’re all getting together for a barbecue, while Jason stares at him in confusion.

Bruce, in full Batsuit, looks absurd entering the kitchen with Jason and Slade, both out of uniform and dressed so casually that Slade isn’t even wearing any shoes. He looks as surprised to see Jason as Jason does to see him.

“Wilson, what the hell is—”

“The fuck, Slade? You didn’t tell me he—”

They both speak at the same time, and Slade just tips back his own beer while they trip over their words.

“...You two done? Don’t bother,” he holds up a hand to silence them as they open their mouths, doubtless about to try to speak at the same time again. “I’ll make this quick. Jason, I doubt you need the confirmation unless you’re too thick or too deep in denial to see it, but Bat-Daddy is jealous of us. Well, of me.”

Bruce takes a step forward as Jason goes wide-eyed and scarlet, glancing between the two of them.

“Wilson—”

“The sooner you can admit it, the sooner we fix this problem and get on with our lives,” Slade says. “You. Me. The boy. Whoever makes him come hardest tonight wins; the other has to back off.”

It’s like the words physically stop any of them from speaking. Jason tries to say a few things but only manages to make noises each time, and Bruce’s jaw sounds like it may just crack under the pressure he puts on it by gritting his teeth so hard.

“Spare me the blushing virgin act.” Slade pushes away from the counter, setting his beer down so he can make his way over to Jason. Both Jason and Bruce tense up, but Slade remains relaxed as can be. “We all know what you want. What you _both_ want.”

“I— _Ohh._ ”

When Jason finally manages to form something that sounds like a word, Slade shoves a knee between his legs and grinds up the way he knows Jason likes. The kid’s mouth drops open immediately, brows furrowed, face such a nice shade of red. One of Slade’s hands snakes around to grab Jason’s ass, and the other pins Jason’s hand to the table.

“Don’t be shy,” he coos with a cocky little smirk. “Both your Daddies know what you’re into, kid. You don’t have to pretend.”

Jason’s eyes first go wide, then screw shut as he tosses his head back and hisses through his teeth. Though he bites his lip on the exhale, he can’t hide his moan. Either he’s a lightweight, or being in this situation turns him on more than anything has in a while.

Judging by the bulge poking at his thigh, he’s going to guess the latter is a factor for sure.

“Slade, this is fucking… _Christ,_ ” Jason breathes, nearly a whisper. He knows that tone. Knows that look on his face. The kid’s seconds away from giving in, whether he’ll admit it to himself or not.

“Well?” Single eye shining, Slade looks between the two of them. “Bedroom?”

* * *

It takes some more cajoling and a few pointed verbal jabs before either of the tight-asses so much as move an inch, but Slade _does_ manage to convince them to take the few steps into the tiny safe house’s bedroom, where a queen-sized bed sits, a rather sizable dent in the old mattress from an uncountable amount of trysts in it before. 

“Who wants to go first?” Slade asks, sliding his arms around Jason from behind. He leans forward to take the shell of Jason’s ear between his teeth as Jason, baring his teeth, reaches up to grab at Slade’s forearms. “Daddy Bats, or just Daddy?”

Bruce growls as Jason shudders in Slade’s arms. He’s broad and tense, like he’s ready for a fight, not about to fuck his former charge silly.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Slade says with a roll of his eye. “Will you at least take that fucking cowl off?”

Hesitation. But, to Slade’s surprise, Bruce does it, pushing his cowl down to stare at them with narrowed, uncertain blue eyes. There’s something almost vulnerable in them when he looks at Jason, but it’s gone in a flash.

“I don’t approve of your… _methods,_ Wilson,” he says. “But if this is what Jason wants…”

He trails off, looking to Jason for confirmation. The kid hates talking about as much as his mentor, and Slade catches the way even the tips of his ears go cherry red. He bites down on one just to feel a shudder.

There’s silence for what feels like hours, Bruce and Jason just staring each other down in that distinctly Bat, “have an entire conversation with your eyes and a series of incomprehensible grunts” way. Then, finally, Jason pulls in half a shuddering breath to speak.

“Yeah.” Slade hears him lick his lips. “Yeah, it is.”

Smirking up at Bruce, Slade’s eye shines with mirth, narrowed icy blue locked on Bruce’s stormy dark ones. “Get to it, then.”

Bruce growls at him, but when he steps forward to take Jason’s face in his gloved hands, something about him changes. Gets a little more… tender. His thumb strokes over Jason’s lip as Slade holds him from behind.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks after what seems like a frankly unreasonable amount of time spent looking between Jason’s eyes and his lips. What a charmer.

Jason just nods, short and clipped. Slade can’t see much of his face, but he can feel the way Jason’s breath shorts out when Bruce leans in and presses their mouths together. It’s tender, gentle in a way Slade’s never been. Almost reminds him of himself and Addie when they first got together, sensuality all mixed up with the dull roar of emotions, of a desire to be close.

How sickeningly sweet.

They’ll never get anywhere if it’s up to them, so Slade takes it upon himself to lead them back toward the bed, tugging Jason along by the waist. He and Bruce stay lip-locked, something intensifying between them. Hot and desperate, they paw at each other, the floodgates open after God only knows how long. Slade almost regrets making this into a competition, with the edge Bruce seems to have.

But that only means he’ll have to work harder, and Slade Wilson is not a quitter.

He gets them started ripping off their clothes. Yanks Jason’s shirt up and his pants down, exposes him for Bruce to kiss and lick and suck on once their lips finally part. It’s like they’re working on autopilot, bodies moving independently now that they’ve finally given themselves and each other permission to act on their feelings.

“Take that off, would you?” Slade urges Bruce, who’s already tugging off his gauntlets. “Yeah. Let’s see it, Wayne. Show Jay what Daddy’s working with, hmm?”

The pair of them watch as Bruce strips down, ridding himself of armor and pound after pound of dark fabric, all of it spilling like a black tsunami onto the floor. His body is hard and covered in scars, the way Slade’s would be if not for his healing factor. Jason can’t seem to stop himself from reaching out and touching.

Bruce is already hard. If it were up to Slade, he’d have him fuck Jason hard and fast here and now, like he knows the kid wants. But he lets them have their charming little first encounter, with Jason almost shyly parting his legs as Bruce settles down between them. Slade stays behind Jason, pressed up against his back, knees on either side of him.

There’s plenty of lube. Slade passes it to them and watches with a burning intensity as Bruce slicks up his fingers, feels Jason gasp and shudder as they find his hole. Jason takes to it as well as he always does; Slade can tell by the way he sinks back against him and curls his toes. Can tell Bruce feels it, how good Jason is at taking it, how sensitive that little prostate of his is when you swipe the callused pads of your fingers over it.

“You two take so _long,_ ” he complains, rocking his own hard cock up against the small of Jason’s back. His rough pants drag against it in a way that’s almost painful, which only makes it that much better for him. He turns his lips to Jason’s ear, beard scratching up the sensitive skin there. “You know how bad you make Daddy wanna fuck you when you move like that, Jay. C’mere…”

With the arms still around his waist, he yanks Jason off Bruce’s fingers. It takes a second to yank his pants down, then he has Jason poised above his cock, dripping lube down onto him from where he was messily pulled away.

“Wilson—”

“You have better things to do with your mouth than use it to annoy me,” Slade says. “Get to it.”

Bruce glares at him, looks like he’s going to say something, but decides against it. One look at Jason tells him why. The kid is glossy-eyed and panting, glancing between the two of them and almost _drooling_ , he’s so overwhelmed. His hips jerk in aborted little motions over Slade’s cock, teasing the tip with that wet little hole of his. Brat doesn’t know how fucking badly he makes a guy want to ruin him.

But he’s about to find out.

“Fuck,” he says, voice thick and heavy. “Fuck, B. Just do whatever the fuck you— f-fucking want to me.”

Bruce growls roughly through his teeth, then moves forward, kissing Jason’s throbbing cock. Jason practically whimpers, a sound that’s only drawn out when Slade starts to drag him down and breach him with the head of his dick.

Jason takes it like a champ, relaxing and clenching at all the right moments. They have each other’s bodies down to a science by now. Bruce is the wildcard in the equation, the one unfamiliar with exactly what makes Jason tic.

But, from the sound of it, it seems like he’s figuring it out pretty quickly. Bats are fast learners. Who knew?

By the time Jason is fully-seated in Slade’s lap, Bruce has taken his cock down into the back of his throat. Jason is _not_ a small man, and instantly, Slade feels jealous — but he keeps his eyes on the prize.

He starts to thrust in earnest, earning a loud yelp from Jason on every upswing. Bounces him in his lap like a little fuckdoll as Bruce struggles — and succeeds — to keep up, making wet, throaty noises around Jason’s cock.

They’re all covered in sweat and drool, and the room smells like sex and sounds like a porno, especially with the way Jason screams for it.

“Daddy,” he begs, and whimpers, and _pleads_ . “Daddy, _fuck—_ Daddy, Daddy, Daddy I need it, Daddy I c- _can’t—_ ”

“Come on,” Slade growls in his ear. “Come for me.”

Bruce pulls away and strokes Jason with a firm, fast hand. “Come for Daddy, lad. There’s a good boy.”

Jason’s strangled scream nearly shatters Slade’s eardrum. The tight clench of his ass around his cock is almost painful, but in a way that tips him over the edge, too. Grunting, he empties himself inside of Jason, and Bruce leans in again, sucking the tip of Jason’s dick for a few short seconds before his orgasm wracks through him.

* * *

“I won.”

“You didn’t win, Wilson.”

“I made him come. It was my cock in his ass,” Slade says. “I won.”

Over Jason’s unconscious body, they whisper, Bruce glaring, Slade smirking.

“It was my mouth,” Bruce insists.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yes.” Rolling his eyes, Bruce wraps a protective arm around Jason’s shoulders and pulls him close. “And I want you out of Gotham by morning.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Slade waves a hand, but he’s already getting out of bed. Jason, who usually murmurs in his sleep and reaches for him when he tries to pull away, now lies immobile and fast asleep against Bruce’s chest. “Don’t let me ruin father-son bonding time.”

He gives a wicked smirk as he tugs on his pants, Bruce’s glare burning lines into his body. When he’s fully-dressed, he just saunters out of the room, not bothering to use the window in some sort of unnecessary superhero show-off move.

“You’re welcome,” he calls over his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](https://dicktofen.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/ultradadnaya)


End file.
